nk without bein' a
liar--yes, yes. But this is a little different. Seems to me--seems so."

He began his pacing up and down again.

"Seems different, somehow," he went on. "Seems like a new chance. I want
to do somethin' for Uncle Sam. I--I'd like to try and enlist for the
duration of the war--swear off for that long, anyhow. Then, maybe, I'd
be able to keep on for life, you know--duration of Labe Keeler, eh? Yes,
yes, yes. But I could begin for just the war, couldn't I? Maybe, 'twould
fool me into thinkin' that was easier."

"Of course, Labe. It's a good idea."

"Maybe; and maybe it's a fool one. But I'm goin' to try it. I AM tryin'
it, have been all day."

He paused, drew a shaking hand across his forehead and then asked, "Al,
will you help me? I asked you up here hopin' you would. Will you, Al,
eh? Will you?"

Albert could not understand how he could possibly help another man keep
the pledge, but his promise was eagerly given.

"Certainly, Labe," he said.

"Thanks . . . thank you, Al. . . . And now will you do something for
me--a favor?"

"Gladly. What is it?"

Laban did not answer at once. He appeared to be on the point of
doing so, but to be struggling either to find words or to overcome a
tremendous reluctance. When he did speak the words came in a burst.

"Go down stairs," he cried. "Down those stairs you came up. At the foot
of 'em, in a kind of cupboard place, under 'em, there's--there probably
is a jug, a full jug. It was due to come by express to-day and I
cal'late it did, cal'late Jim Young fetched it down this afternoon. I--I
could have looked for myself and seen if 'twas there," he added, after
a momentary hesitation, "but--but I didn't dare to. I was afraid
I'd--I'd--"

"All right, Labe. I understand. What do you want me to do with it if it
is there?"

"I want you--I want you to--to--" The little bookkeeper seemed to be
fighting another internal battle between inclination and resolution. The
latter won, for he finished with, "I want you to take it out back of the
buildin' and--and empty it. That's what I want you to do, empty it, Al,
every drop. . . . And, for the Almighty's sake, go quick," he ordered,
desperately, "or I'll tell you not to before you start. Go!"

Albert went. He fumbled in the cupboard under the stairs, found the
jug--a large one and heavy--and hastened out into the night with it in
his hands. Behind the shoe store, amid a heap of old packing boxes
and other rubbish, h